


Today I Won't Be So Hard On Me

by orphan_account



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender, vld - Fandom
Genre: Angst, Blood, Blood and Violence, Depression, HEAVY LANGST, I Mean Slow Burn, Lance (Voltron) Needs a Hug, Lance (Voltron) is a Mess, Langst, M/M, Self-Esteem Issues, Self-Hatred, Slow Burn, Slow burn Klance, Torture, bye, i just realized i never tagged torture, i like beating up my son, im sorry, internalized issues, jk im sorry, keith (voltron) needs a nap, klance is endgame, lance (voltron) centric, last thing to happen will probably be klance and I'm not even sorry, lemme say it again, self worth issues, voltron legendary defender - Freeform, yeet
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-14
Updated: 2017-08-15
Packaged: 2018-12-15 04:36:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,421
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11798532
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Lance, for lack of better words, was fucked.Cold chair still attached to his legs, he scrambled to undo his bindings before he was caught and executed.~aka the torture fic no one asked for but i gave you anyways





	1. Nothing Can Breathe In The Space

**Author's Note:**

> yeet, i have no idea what I'm doing and i have not seriously written in over 5 years so  
> haha.. I'm really rusty to say the least...... 
> 
> If you see typos please please tell me, it helps a lot and i won't be offended :^) 
> 
> Let me know if I need to tag something, I don't want to cause anyone any kind of grief or trouble♡

 

War was hard on young men, women, and basically every class of gender or lack of out there.

War was  _hard._  

Lance couldn't think long before they were out again, fighting and raging against enemies they had only known about for maybe a few months, trying to take back thousands of years worth of damage.

_They're children h_ _e was only seventeen, he should be partying not worrying about if he was going to die in space without his mother knowing where he'd gone or what great (if any) he had accomplished._ Lance had originally thought this at least, but here he still stood, no matter what he thought he was still fighting in the cold darkness of space with six other amazing and extraordinary people /and aliens/ while he cried silently in his pillow because he was weak and missed his mother a little too much for an almost adult.

He felt so lonely despite being crammed in a castleship-thing and almost always being surrounded by either teammates, allies or enemies. He felt worthless, he wasn't smart like Pidge or as good with machines as Hunk. He wasn't quick like Keith, a leader like Shiro, as quick as Allura, or as consoling as Coran. He didn't matter to the team and with Shiro back he felt the need to disappear from it all. Honestly, he wanted to go back home so badly, but he couldn't and thats that.

 

* * *

 

Torture was something Lance had only heard of on the news and movies, never did he think he would be on the receiving end of it but alas the universe is cruel. He'd been taken maybe two quintets, no three, he didn't really know exactly but it had been a while ago. For the most part he was sure it was three if his counting was correct, maybe longer but most of it he was either being manhandled or unconscious so he probably lost time somewhere. His stomach ached for food and his mouth felt sandpapery and each breath was labored from, more than likely, broken ribs. Not to mention the intense ringing in his ears or the dizziness that he was one hundred percent sure was a concussion from being bashed in the head on more than one account. Right now however he sat on a metal chair in the Chamber-o-Death as he had deemed it.

His back ached and his lips lay parted as his labored breathing, hunched over in an attempt to conceal his battered face from more damage. The agony he was going through was only amplified by the gut wrenching pain in his knee where a small knife was imbedded deep in the tendon. A hand grabbed him by his shoulders and forced him to sit upright, cold and icy not unlike the glare shot his way by the half-galra prince. Lance yelped as the dagger was removed painfully.

"Young paladin, you wouldn't have to deal with all of this if you could only tell me what I need to know. I really don't want to have to hurt your delicate face anymore, dear. Humans are such fragile things are you not?" Lance spat, blood from his split lip slapping harshly against the princes metal armor, however the prince laughed heartily as if his bloody spit was some unfathomably amusing joke.

"F-eff you, prin-prince Loriel, the overgrown purple leg-Legolas will never get anythin-AUGH FUCK SHIT!"Lances spiteful words were hastily cut off by the knife returning to its place in his leg, quickly being replaced by curses his mama would be ashamed of coming from her youngest. Lance decided he didn't really care about that right now because the searing pain was soon doubled as the druid from a few dobashes ago placed their hand back on his forehead and began searching for information, painfully going through Lances mind like a filing cabinet as Lotor spoke to him.

"Your family, they probably already forgot you existed." Flashes of Cuba, pizza, cheese fries, his family, garlic knots, and the beach flew in front of his openers as his screams filled the air between him and the vastness of space.

"Your team hasn't come for you yet, do you really think they care for you? I care for you, Lance. I care for everyone, all I want is peace throughout all galaxies. If you would give me the things I need, Lance you could be a hero." He tried to put up blocks as the cold hands dug deeper into his skin, nails causing blood to flow from where each digit made its home in his skin. He tried to imagine walls being built around the most secure safe and he stored the vital information there. Voltron, the paladins, the lions, the ship and alliances; everything was safe here and no one would get it no matter how much of a screw up he was, he was not letting Lotor get this, he could hear him getting impatient but he just needed to hold on a little longer.

"Lance. Tell me this, have they ever asked your opinion on a mission?" Lance refused to offer anything despite the growing pain in his chest and the agony his body was enduring. He wanted to be back in the castle so dearly just reclining in his comfy lion slippers, able to talk to Coran about Altea or joking about Corans cooking with Keith as they sat in the star deck with plates of goo late at night, he wanted to listen to hunk ramble on about the parts of the lions he didn't have any clue about, wanted to hear Pidge try and explain series of endless codes in a way he could understand and make jokes with Allura about different ways to mess up Lotors name.

"Do whatever you want, he's useless to me." Lance watched as Lotor left the room absorbing his words before his pain elevated as the druids nails dug deep into his skin and drug downwards, he yelled loudly, though no one could hear him, as blood filled his vision before blacking out. On thought filled his mind however, _did his team even care he was gone right now?_


	2. Voices Won't Go Away

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> -TW! PANIC ATTACK!-
> 
>  
> 
> He lived the life of a slave and breathed so he could live for just one more torturous day. He didn't know how much longer his life would last but even if he were to die, at least he knew he lived for the secret and safety of Voltron.

Things were, capital N capital O, Not Okay.

Lance was in agony. Be it starvation, dehydration or torture he wasn't sure but he hurt,  _everywhere_. His brain felt like mush from being ripped through and the concussion wasn't helping, surprisingly. He attempted to open his eyes,  only to be met with more searing hot pain. Blood clotted around the corners and crusted over the openings making it not only unbearably painful but also nearly impossible to open his eyes. He went to move his arms but the hiss of electric bindings against metal and slicing against his skin stopped him his blood running ice-cold.  _He was still in the chair._   Sighing he attempted to move the leg that had bore the knife only to find the metal still embedded in his skin as more pain and fresh blood flowed.

Lance had thought many things of himself before, worthless happened to be a reoccurring theme among them. He just wasn't good at anything. Lance felt like he deserved this, the torture. It was his fault Keith was almost killed by Acxa. He wasn't paying attention and before he knew it Keith was thrown across the room and under heavy fire from the general. Lance quickly tried to attack her himself only to find himself caught in the trap of the other general like the dumbass he was. He remembers Keith's eyes comically widening and then becoming mere pupils as Lance blacked out from a hard slam against the back of his head. Useless and careless were two things Lance often defined himself as.

His last thought before the prince returned once again flew away as fear replaced it.

Time continued on like this for Lance, going from conscious and tortured to unconscious and back. Unceremoniously thrown on hard floors and roughly tossed into his metal chair, he didn't know how much longer he could do this. Somehow he was still alive. Despite not knowing how long it had been since his capture or even his last meal, he was still alive.

He didn't want to be.

Lance had dealt with his  _issues_  with meds back on Earth but here he didn't have anything to help, which was highly unfortunate as his problems were a little larger now than back home. His issues mainly consisted of times where he would be unmotivated to do anything other than sleep but were more often than not followed by times of high energy where he would do absolutely everything he wanted with no withdraw. Then there was the feelings of not fitting in anywhere, of being misplaced or lost in everyday situations or groups. Don't forget panic attacks. His medicine usually helped with all of that though, so he could feel normal at least.

Now especially, as painful sobs racked his body and his lungs threatened to choke him, he wished he had his medicine or an inhaler or anything to help. He attempted to breathe as well as he could, hoping to calm his panic.

_In four, hold two, out four. Come on work please. I can't breathe oh god. In four, hold two, out four. In five, hold two, out five._

The cold floor soon greeted him, unconsciousness soon seeping into his crazed brain.

 

* * *

 

Team Voltron wasn't fairing much better.

The loss hit everyone harder than Shiro's had been. Pidge relentlessly checked every prisoner and command ship she could even as her glasses fogged and hard sobs racked her body. Coran was there as a rock even though everyone could clearly hear in his voice he was nearing his own edge, but he refused to believe Lance was gone so he stayed as much himself as possible. Allura and Shiro were trying to come up with strategies to get Lance back and when they weren't allure was trying to find him and Shiro was training. Hunk began installing a newer and better quintessence tracker on the lions to attempt his own search for his best friend, he carefully did so on all except Red. Her force field was up in a constant angry stasis no matter how many times they pleaded with her to open.

Everyone worried for Keith the most. The normally reserved paladin was entirely silent, refusing to speak verbally to anyone and snapping physically at those who dared get in the way of his routine or questioned him. He woke up and trained. He ate lunch and trained. He ate dinner and trained before showering and sleeping for all of three vargas before restarting his cycle. When the others did see him they sent silent sorrowful smiles his direction. They could see the angry tears of frustration on his face but they didn't know why they were there.

Keith felt like he wasn't contributing anything. He didn't code or engineer and he couldn't plan or be kind like them so he was, for the first time in a while, lost. He didn't know how to fix the deep-rooted feelings of doubt he had imbedded in himself, so he trained. The overexertion in his muscles helped him clear his mind and distracted from the gaping hole in his stomach and the angry buzzing thoughts.

 

* * *

  

Lance honestly didn't know how much longer he could keep this up. His head throbbed and numbed eventually becoming less painful with each attack the druid brought up. His mind went lax and he let himself be consumed by the darkness. He didn't give up the teams secrets however. He refused to let them get the locations of allies or even what the paladins enjoyed to eat on Earth. He numbed his mind though, making sure to allow just enough for him to know when the witch was pulling close to the fortress of paladin memories.

He couldn't stress enough how tired he was growing from it all. Every time he woke up he was someplace new. Every time he woke up they had new methods of torture to test on him. He didn't know exactly how they had learned about old-fashioned human torture but Lance did decently enough in history to understand what a few of them were for.

They shoved him in completely white rooms for vargas on end and let his brain slowly diminish itself. Sensory deprivation, meant to make the brain fill in gaps where colors and sounds were absent making the victim slowly lose their mind. They made him lay down with a rag over his face and slowly poured water over him making him feel as if he was drowning. The rag gave just enough air to keep him alive but the sensation of not getting air caused his feet to numb and his hands to grip violently at his restraints. One of their favorites for Lance was the small metal chair, the bottom was heated bu some unknown force while the top was chilled to freezing temperatures. The mixture of sensations confused Lances body and caused him to jerk when one was even slightly changed. He didn't know how much more he could take of this. He wanted to die and be done. He wanted to be back safe with his team. He didn't want to be here anymore be it dead or alive.

He couldn't handle much more, so he did what he thought best and shut down his brain. He let himself be moved from room to room and allowed them to beat him down physically and emotionally. He never flinched when the hands grabed him roughly or other prisoners shouted rough slurs and let malicious and mildly suggestive comments flow from their crumbling and withering forms. He let his own blood flow and watched as it flowed over his eyelashes and dripped down his cheeks and chin only to stain the hard floor of whatever room he was in.

He let himself do this, all because he knew if he fought he would never make it back home. Slowly this all became much less real to him and much more of a state of being. He lived the life of a slave and breathed so he could live for just one more torturous day. He didn't know how much longer his life would last but even if he were to die, at least he knew he lived for the secret and safety of Voltron.

**Author's Note:**

> i got my Altean time conversions from ↓
> 
> http://butteredonions.tumblr.com/post/156227389863/altean-measurements-of-time
> 
> hit me up ↓
> 
> http://maaadiiisooon.tumblr.com
> 
> i'm not as cool as you may think lmao but i like awkwardly talking to people so ye feel free  
> also idk i just thought, purple=eggplant idk anymore its midnight and I've been really drained all day but wanted some feedback on his rough piece of crap lmao


End file.
